Beyond Flirting
by r4ven3
Summary: This one shot is a follow up story to "Flirting", and it may help if you read that first, although this story can stand alone. Set mid S.5 (and where Cotterdam did not happen, and perhaps O. Mace could have found another Section head to target) Ruth and Harry go on their second dinner date ... even though Ruth still has some reservations.


Across the small space in the back seat of the taxi, Ruth can feel his eyes on her. She knows he's rather keen on her. If she'd been unsure, their phone conversation the night before certainly put paid to any uncertainty she may have had.

He'd called her `lovely', and she knew he'd meant it.

She turns her head towards him to see his dark eyes on her. She smiles at him, and he reaches across and takes her hand in his. A week ago, she'd have panicked at such forthright behaviour. Now? It feels perfectly natural for them to be sitting in the back seat of a taxi on the way to their second ever dinner together, her hand nestling in his on the seat between them, his thumb rhythmically caressing her knuckles, so that inside herself she sings in time with the hypnotic movement of his thumb across her skin.

He'd turned up on the dot of 7, as she knew he would. This time he is dressed in black trousers with a dark blue shirt, with the top few buttons undone, which is her preference. Over his shirt he wears a light-coloured jacket. She has opted for a knee-length mid-blue dress with long sleeves, and showing just enough cleavage, but not enough for her to be experiencing discomfort. When he'd smiled into her eyes as she'd opened the door to him, she'd noticed his eyes raking over her appearance, and hovering on her cleavage, she'd considered her choice a good one. After all, she'd looked at his throat for longer than necessary, and once her eyes had again met his, she saw in them an acknowledgement of mutual attraction.

Ruth is surprised to realise that she feels comfortable with Harry, and that they seem to fit together, like two pieces of a giant jigsaw puzzle. _I have been waiting for this man all my life_, she thinks, unaware that the man sitting beside her, his thumb circling the the skin of the back of her hand, is thinking the very same thing about her.

* * *

The restaurant is more casual than the one he'd last taken her to only weeks earlier.

"It's Cambodian," he explains, as she looks around. "They serve Cambodian and Thai food, as well as a few Vietnamese dishes."

Interpreting her look as one of fear, he stops, and turns to face her, his hand on her elbow.

"I'm sorry. I should have checked with you first, to see whether you like south-east Asian food. We can go somewhere else."

Ruth shakes her head and smiles, looking up into his eyes, which dazzle her, even when his look is one of concern. "No, it's not that. I like the food. It's just that I hadn't expected _you_ to like it."

It is at that moment that they are shown to their table, and a waiter pulls out their chairs, and waits while they sit. He then hands them each a menu, stating his name is Prak, and he will be serving them, and then discreetly leaves. They discuss the menu together, and once they've decided, Harry calls Prak back to their table to take their order.

"I didn't mean to judge you, Harry. It's just that I hadn't imagined you liking Cambodian and Thai food."

"I suspect there's a lot you don't know about me, Ruth."

Harry's eyes are on hers, challenging her, so she drags her gaze from him, and looks around the restaurant, seeing very little. She can still see him out the corner of her eyes, as he leans across, and covers her hand with his.

"Look at me, Ruth …... please."

She slowly drags her eyes back to his, and his gaze is almost too much for her. A phone conversation with Harry is so much easier than this.

"Ruth …... if we're to …... be something to one another, then you can't turn from me every time I say something you find confronting."

Ruth takes a while to answer. Keeping her distance from Harry is not going to be easy.

"What do you plan for us to be to one another, Harry?"

"I would have thought that to be obvious."

Ruth sits back in her chair as Prak delivers their wine, and pours a little into Harry's glass for him to taste. He sips it, all the time watching Ruth, and then nods and smiles at Prak. Once the waiter leaves, they each try their wine, the moment lost, although Harry's words still swirl around inside her head. Asking him, during a phone conversation, to take her to dinner was so much easier than sitting opposite him in a restaurant, but Ruth is determined to not cut and run.

"Yes, I suppose it is obvious," she says quietly. "You want to sleep with me."

Harry's expression is one of shock, but he recovers quickly. "Not immediately, Ruth, although …... some time soon might be nice. I need you to know that I'm prepared to wait until you're ready …... for further intimacy between us, if …..."

Ruth looks down at her wine glass, and then up at Harry. "What if I don't want to wait?" she asks, her eyes already registering the shock on his face.

And that is the moment when Prak arrives at their table with Harry's Fish Amok, and Ruth's Khmer Beef Salad. They tuck into their food with relish, leaving the moment behind them.

It is only when they are climbing into the back seat of their taxi home that the moment is again addressed.

* * *

Ruth slides into the back seat of the taxi, and Harry follows her, stopping just short of touching her thigh with his own.

"Is there something wrong?" she asks.

"Wrong? No. Why do you ask?"

"It's just that when I've been out with men who've wanted to sleep with me, they've been all over me the minute we got into the taxi."

Harry breathes out suddenly, as though he'd been holding his breath. "Jesus, Ruth. Is that what you think of me? Yes, I want you …... like that …... but I'm not about to imitate an octopus just because we're sitting in the dark. I …..."

"I'm sorry. I must have misheard you."

Ruth turns in her seat to face Harry, and she sees a confused and – yes – hurt man. Harry is hurt because …... she'd supposed he'd be all over her in the taxi, and expect sex when they got back to her place …... or his. Very slowly, Ruth reaches out to him, and takes his hand in hers. He grasps her hand like a drowning man.

"You didn't mishear me, Ruth," he says, his voice close to a whisper. "I want you in that way, but I'd much rather be …... the way we are right now, than risk everything by making the wrong move. I enjoy being with you. You're bright, challenging, beautiful -"

"Don't forget that I'm lovely -"

"- and you're lovely."

"And you called me unique. I suspect that's a good thing."

"It is."

"And I seem to remember you calling me sexy, so that can only mean -"

"It means I find you very attractive …... and …..."

"Desirable?"

"Yes, I do desire you. Look ….." Harry takes a deep breath, his eyes on their linked hands, where he has drawn them to rest on his knee. "There have been times in my life …... in the past …... a long time ago …... when I would have jumped a woman on the way home in the taxi. It's not the smoothest of moves, but I was …..."

"... in desperate need of sex."

"Maybe, but I was not terribly respectful of the women I saw. God, many of them were while I was still married, so nor was I respectful of my wife. I'm not …... that man any more, Ruth. I'll wait for you for as long as it takes."

Ruth sits back against the back of the seat, her hand still in Harry's, resting on his knee. How does one behave around a man who wants her, but will not push her into giving him what he wants? Perhaps just being herself would be a good place to start.

They sit together quietly while the taxi weaves and winds its way through the night traffic. London streets are always congested, but moreso on Saturday nights. The taxi pulls up outside Ruth's house. She is about to sigh in disappointment, when Harry leans close to her, his mouth not far from her ear.

"I'd really like it were you to invite me inside," he whispers.

Picking up his double meaning, Ruth blushes into the darkness. The taxi driver is looking in the rear view mirror, waiting for someone to pay the fare, so Ruth turns to Harry, and seeing his mouth close enough for her to kiss, she nods. Harry smiles, and then steps out of the taxi to pay the driver, before he turns and reaches for Ruth's hand, and helps her as she steps on to the pavement.

* * *

"Coffee?" Ruth asks, as she closes and locks her front door behind them.

"We had coffee at the restaurant," Harry replies, standing so close to her back that she can feel the heat from his body.

Ruth turns quickly, to find herself nose to chest with Harry. "Is this what you want, Harry?" And Ruth reaches up and lightly kisses his mouth, opening her mouth slightly before pulling away.

Harry is visibly surprised, but he quickly recovers.

"I want everything with you …... but ….."

"But what?" It is then sees his hesitation. _Were I glamorous, or beautiful, or tall and elegant, he'd have dragged me upstairs by now._

"I need to know that you're …... ready for …... this."

Then it hits her. Harry wants _her_, not some glamorous cardboard cut-out, but it's clear to her that he has reservations …... about …... about _what_?

"Harry," she ventures, "are you concerned about …... your ability to …... perform?"

She is shocked when he steps even closer to her, and slides his hands around her waist, so that their bodies are almost touching, but not quite. He leans down and gently places his lips on hers. The kiss is soft at first, and then he opens his mouth, and it is clear to her where the kiss is going, so she rests her palms against his chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly. _Is he trying to prove something?_ He holds her just a little away from him, as the kiss becomes passionate, and she moans into his mouth.

Then she knows what he is doing. She can feel him …... against her stomach. They are still kissing, and his tongue is sliding around hers, and this time, he groans from deep within his throat, as he grows against her. The kiss ends, and he lifts his head, and gazes down at her. He is pushing himself against her, just in case she'd missed it.

"I get it," she says, only slightly embarrassed. Mostly, she's relieved.

"It's not me I'm worried about, Ruth …... it's you."

"Me? Why?"

He steps away from her a little, and his hands slide from her waist to her arms, and thence to her hands.

"Let's go to the kitchen, and I'll make us a cup of tea."

"I can make it," she says, pulling away from him, and quickly leading him down the hallway to the kitchen, relieved to no longer be the object of his close scrutiny.

Sensing her need to keep her hands busy, Harry sits at the table, while she makes the tea. When it is ready, Ruth places the pot between them, the sugar and milk on the table, cups and saucers in front of them. Harry pours the tea for them both, and they busy themselves for a minute or two with adding sugar and milk, and then sipping to see if it is ready for drinking.

"I have no cause to doubt my feelings for you, Ruth. I am prepared to love you in every way there is, and I'll not back down from that. Ours will not be just some casual, experimental shag."

"I know."

"I have never doubted my …... ability to perform -"

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have -"

"I'm rather good at …...

"Making love?"

"Yes, and I know how I react in your presence. I just have to think of you sometimes, and …... well, you can imagine the rest."

"It happens at work?"

"No," he smiles across the table at her. "I'm very …... controlled at work. It would be unprofessional of me to have …... _that_ happen every time you enter my office."

He is smiling at her across the table. He is not teasing her, or testing her. He is serious about this, about her. It is she who has been testing him. It is as if she's been saying: '_I'm not some glamorous woman, Harry. I'm just me – quite clever, but mostly very ordinary, and not terribly exciting. Do you still want me?'_

Of course he does.

But, you see, he doesn't see her the way she sees herself. When Harry looks at her he sees …... all those adjectives he'd mentioned the night before, when they were on the phone. _That_ is the person that for him is Ruth. _That_ is the person he thinks about when his body gives him away, although (thankfully) not while at work.

Ruth is unaware that she is smiling as she sips her tea.

"What's so funny?" he asks.

"You. Me. Us."

"You'll have to explain that, Ruth."

She carefully places her cup back on the saucer, and looks up at him. His face – kind, open …... loving – almost takes her breath away, so she looks down while she speaks. "I thought …... you wanted something different from me, and by pursuing me you were …... making do with what was …... available."

"_Jesus_, Ruth -"

"No …... hear me out. I have to say this. I could see you wanted me …... in that way …... but I thought I was just a filler until someone more appropriate came along someone more ... suitable for you. Now I can see that …... it's me you wanted all along." Ruth had been staring at the teapot while she speaks, but it is then that she looks up into his eyes. "You've been waiting for me. We've each been waiting for the other, because I know that it's you I've wanted all along, and I've tried …... so hard …. to deny it, but I ….."

There is a moment while they each stare at the other, the silence filled only by the sound of their breathing. Harry reaches out across the table with his hand, but the table is too wide for him to reach her. Suddenly, he gets up, the legs of his chair scraping on the polished floorboards, reminding Ruth of cats screwing, screaming as they submit, one to the other. In an instant he is by her side, his hand out, waiting for her. She places her hand in his, her eyes never leaving his, and he lifts her from her chair.

This time their bodies meld as they kiss. There is no space between them as he dips his mouth to hers, and kisses her deeply, his tongue quickly finding hers.

"Upstairs?" she says, once they take a breather. He is already hard, pressing against her stomach. She is sure he'll say yes.

"On a scale of one to ten, Ruth …... how much do you want this?"

She looks away from him for a moment, and he experiences a moment of panic. What made him ask such a ridiculous question?

Ruth turns back to him with her answer. "Around fifteen," she says, looking up at him, her grey-blue eyes clear and direct. "What about you, Harry …... on a scale of one to ten?"

He has no need to think about it. "Somewhere beyond three hundred," he says, his face serious.

"I guess we'd best crack on, then," she says, the ghost of a smile on her lips.

He smiles widely – something she has seen him do only rarely.

She is sure he is happy.

She is sure they both want this even more than they dare admit to the other.

She is sure that Harry is a passionate man.

She is sure he will be a good lover, a considerate lover.

She is sure this night will be unforgettable, burned into her memory along with so many childhood Christmases.

Ruth again grasps his hand, and leads him out of the kitchen, flicking off the light switch as they pass through the doorway. They reach the hallway, and she turns towards the stairs, and as she reaches the first stair, she turns to face him, from where he stands at the foot of the stairs. She winds her arms around his neck, and pulls him to her, kissing him with all the passion she has denied herself, for fear of appearing loose, wanton. She smiles against his mouth as he pushes himself against her, this time pressing against her pubic bone. With rare boldness, Ruth takes one hand from where she is winding her fingers in his hair, and slides it down his body - shoulder, chest, stomach, waist, and then to where he is rock hard, and pressing against her. Through his trousers and underwear, she gently takes him in her hand, and squeezes him gently, smiling against his neck as she hears a moan from deep in his throat.

_This is where we both belong,_ she thinks, unaware that Harry is thinking exactly the same thing.

"I'm not about to make love to you on the stairs, Ruth," he gasps, pulling himself away slightly, and smiling at her. "Lead me to your bedroom."

And so she does.


End file.
